


The Grand Chamberlain

by ignis_scientia_estrogen_brigade



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11181348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignis_scientia_estrogen_brigade/pseuds/ignis_scientia_estrogen_brigade
Summary: This is more of a headcanon than anything; we know painfully little about Ignis' past, so I opted to fill in the blanks with my own imagining.





	The Grand Chamberlain

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the events of the game.

On days when the weight of the world feels particularly heavy on his shoulders, and the distant memory of simpler times stirs within him old feelings of nostalgia, the strategist presses his fingers to the glass of a picture frame he keeps stored on a dusty bookshelf in his apartment. Other than the clothes on his back, the photograph was the only other personal effect he had brought with him on the road to Altissia all those years ago, and he had taken painstaking care not to lose it as he traveled from Insomnia to Nifleim and everywhere in between.

He can’t actually see the image, of course, but when he traces his fingertips along the smooth surface, Ignis is able to recall to mind in near-perfect detail the faces of the youths displayed within. Prompto Argentum, his feathery blond hair mimicking that of the domesticated chocobos he held so dear; Gladiolus Amicitia, when only one vertical scar adorned his face; and Noctis Lucis Caelem, his king, his majesty, his oldest friend, back before he was called upon by the Six to defeat the starscourge and was lost to the ages entirely.

It was never the intent of the Scientia family for Ignis to be groomed as a royal steward and counselor to the crown prince—at least, not at first. Noctis had lost his mother as an infant, and Regis had grown concerned with his young son’s increasingly introverted nature that he thought perhaps introducing him to a playmate near his own age might help to bring him out of his shell. The future strategist was an only child himself, and happened to have an uncle in direct service to the king, so a six-year-old Ignis was invited to spend a summer at the Citadel as glorified entertainment to a toddler.

He remembers Noct as a sweet boy; quiet and shy, but remarkably astute for his age. He had an active imagination, as evident by the numerous toys and building blocks he transformed into fantastical settings daily, and was eager to immerse himself in the fairytales of the books Ignis brought with him from the north, but only if his new companion would agree to do the reading for him. That was fine by Ignis; wooden swords and play fighting more rambunctious children tended to gravitate toward appealed little to his intellect, but he could spend hours with his nose buried in the pages of his favorite stories and never get bored in the slightest.

And so those hours turned into days, and the days eventually stretched out into weeks; when the weather was favorable, the two often sat out under a tree just beyond the palace inventing their own fables, until the late afternoon gave way to early twilight. If a squall happened to pass over the crown city, they were content to barricade themselves beneath a blanket fort and pretend to be the reigning king of Lucis and his most loyal Kingsglaive. The timid child he had met at the onset of their accord gave way to a much more articulate character, and although Ignis could’ve sworn the summer had just begun—the mind plays tricks on a memory—his time at the Citadel was soon over, and he received word that his parents were on their way to fetch their only son.

But his parents never made it to Crown City, because their vehicle was found mangled beyond all recognition on the road leading to Insomnia, its passengers deceased long before emergency assistance could be provided. Some said it was simply a misfortunate but commonly occurring automobile accident; others whispered that since the wreck was discovered outside the safety of the city’s walls, perhaps a daemon—rare as they were east of Leide—might’ve been to blame for the catastrophe. Regardless of the true factors at play, Ignis suddenly found himself orphaned and alone, the prospects of his future uncertain.

The strategist takes pride in remembering the important milestones of his life, but admittedly that particular period remains rather hazy in his mind. It was, however, the only time he can recall ever openly weeping in front of Noctis; Ignis’ elated smiles while celebrating the prince’s fourth birthday not a week prior turned to tears of sorrow on his face in an instant. “It’ll be okay,” Noct had said to him, not older than a babe himself. “My mom died, too.”

Something changed within Ignis that day; he began to compartmentalize the more whimsical facets of his personality, his newfound stoicism shaping the seriousness that eventually defined his mannerism as an adult. Regis must have taken note of his abrupt shift in priorities—in addition to the positive influence the younger Scientia had over his son—because he proposed the opportunity to turn his tragedy into prosperity by offering to appoint Ignis as personal advisor to the heir apparent.

In hindsight, the idea of pledging his service to the crown was an awfully weighty decision to impart onto the shoulders of a juvenile, and the strategist isn’t quite sure if he was the lifelong companion Noctis even wanted. But he was almost certainly the one the prince needed, and the fate of his own parents was regrettably out of his hands, so he mitigated his grief by focusing his attention on the few variables he could control; charming as he was, Noct could be downright insolent when forced into doing something he didn’t want to do—eating his vegetables was a particular source of disagreement—and it seemed like only Ignis could hold fast against his stubbornness at times.

As the years passed, and he grew more accustomed to life at the Citadel, Ignis found himself in the role of not only counterpart and tutor to the heir of Lucis, but also custodian and sometime surrogate parent. Regis’ duty to his people kept him away from his son more often than not, and few others within the palace knew how to distract the prince from his separation anxiety toward his absentee father long enough for his tears to dry; learning to bake was a rather menial task for someone of Ignis’ shrewd acumen, but the cupcakes he managed not to burn put a smile on Noct’s face nonetheless.

As is to be expected, the experiences one is exposed to in life inevitably changes them; Noctis spent several months recovering in Tenebrae after an unfortunate encounter with a daemon, and upon his return the strategist noticed the beginnings of a brooding melancholy that would later be the prince’s most distinguishing facet. Ignis himself was fielding his own growing pains, as he found that the longing to reach out with empathy to his friend was in direct conflict with the sternness necessary to become an effective advisor. The hours they spent together as children reading fairytales and fables now comprised mostly of pouring over schoolwork and textbooks—the very last thing that appealed to Noct when his mind was on a place and a girl thousands of miles away—and the prince’s growing ennui toward his royal status and the palace at large only served to loosen the ties that once bound them so closely.

Perhaps there is simply something about living in close quarters with a person day in and day out for many years that results in one inevitably taking the other for granted; Noctis was as near and dear to Ignis as a brother, yet at times it felt they were as far apart as strangers. It didn’t help that the strategist’s well-intentioned but admittedly persistent prodding seemed only to drive the prince further away from him and into the company of newer, less authoritative friends; Ignis surmises that it made sense for Noct to want to surround himself with the likes of Prompto and Gladio, who were arguably more fun to be around than the stuffy royal chamberlain.

But the strategist had a job to do, and Regis had personally entrusted him with the responsibility of keeping close watch over his son in his absence, so he did what he could to stifle the growing tension between himself and his boyhood friend. Attempts at recreating the pastry the prince remembered fondly while recuperating in Tenebrae failed miserably; offering to transport Noct and an unworldly Prompto in the king’s Regalia to tour the city only resulted in him being left behind in the driver’s seat; Ignis even went so far as to enlist the services of Gladio to help him become better versed in the art of warfare—much as his intellect resisted the notion of taking up arms—in the interest of keeping up with Noctis’ budding magical prowess, but his efforts at proving the value of his assets fell on deaf ears.

There comes a time in every man’s life, the strategist concedes, that words inevitably fail and the only course of action when resolving a dilemma is to confront it with steel. Noct’s prickliness toward him had reached a tipping point, the viability of their friendship dangling by a quickly fraying thread, and he’d grown weary of the prince’s blatant disregard toward his father and royal responsibilities when he skipped out on numerous council meetings and trashed his apartment mere hours after Ignis had cleaned it. The moment of reckoning: midnight; the place: a sparring mat located inside the Citadel; the means: two identical sets of daggers.

Noct’s skills with a pair of crossblades was impressive for a sixteen-year-old, but if he’d been paying closer attention to the number of hours his royal steward was clocking in at the palace’s fitness center and not squandered his afternoons wading after elusive Lucian carp, he would have recognized the perfected reverse grip in the strategist’s hands. Still, the bout lasted longer than Ignis would’ve given credit for; by the end of it, the two teenagers were battered and bruised and drenched in their own sweat, the acrimony between them slowly ebbing as the airing of their mutual grievances lingered in both their ears.

Noct continued to trash his apartment at times in the aftermath of their row, and the pastries Ignis baked for him never did quite measure up to snuff, but the grudging sense of respect the strategist had garnered from the prince that night was undeniable. And as that esteem took firm hold, their original fondness for one another resumed; his old friend still chided him for his stuffiness, but his teasing was now laced with affection rather than animosity. Gladio and Prompto’s presence helped to fill in the gaps of the dynamic the strategist was unable to provide in its entirety, and a brotherhood was forged between the four men that would last a lifetime.

At least,  _one_  of their lifetimes. Because when the long night had descended upon Eos an eternity ago, a sacrifice was required from the gods in order for the sun to rise again; as he returns the photograph to its proper place on the dusty shelf in his apartment, Ignis remembers the blissful ignorance of his youth, remembers the faces of his companions when he still had the use of his eyes, remembers when the brotherhood had fractured and splintered and then resurrected itself like a phoenix in the ashes of eternal darkness. And he remembers the last words he had said to Noctis Lucis Caelem, his king, his majesty, his oldest friend, and wonders whether Noct ever knew the true depths of the strategist’s devotion.

As he blinks back the sudden welling in his occluded eye, Ignis whispers, “I should like to think that he did.”


End file.
